


the sins of the father

by courtljp



Category: The Selection Series - Kiera Cass
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Dark, Illéa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtljp/pseuds/courtljp
Summary: "I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing myself for what’s to come. No amount of time can numb the terror."orMaxon's point of view of the abuse he endured at his father's hand following America's caste presentation in The Elite.
Relationships: Maxon Schreave/America Singer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	the sins of the father

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, welcome! This is my first time posting work on here, so everything is all new to me! We never saw much of what Maxon endured at his father's hand, so I really wanted to explore that a little with this short one-shot. Another quick warning, this contains depictions of abuse, so proceed with caution. If you're reading this, thank you so much, and feel free to leave a comment! xoxo ~court

Oh no, America. _What have you done?_

Father is challenging her now, willing her to cower. He stares her down, cornering her as if she is little more than a bug that needs to be squashed. All I can do is sit and watch. 

“And how do you suggest we eliminate the castes? Just suddenly take them all away?” 

For the first time tonight, I see America truly falter. She doesn't have an answer. 

“Oh… I don’t know.” 

The king doesn't hesitate to fire back. “And you don’t think that would cause riots? Complete mayhem? Allow for rebels to take advantage of public confusion?” America shifts, seeming to truly weigh the impact of her words for the first time. After a moment, she speaks again. 

“I think the creation caused a decent amount of confusion…” the rest of her words don’t make it to my ears. As she speaks, she begins to turn, grabbing at an aged book lying atop the pile she had set on the provided desk. Immediately, I recognize it, and needles stab at my palms. 

The moment Father sees America’s hand wrap around the diary, his demeanor shifts to outrage. With a wave of his hand, he motions for the live feed to cut out. The blinking lights of the cameras fade, and the eyes of the country no longer bore down onto us. 

“Father….” I try, reaching to place a hand in front of him. Shoving it away, he stands, barking out a command for all the cameras to be lowered. Then, so fast I have no time to counter his movements, he's ripping the diary from America’s shaking hands. 

“Where did you get this?” From my seat, I can feel the intensity of his voice; America has a front-row seat.

Managing to steady myself, I push out of my seat and hurry over, placing myself between the two. “Father, stop,” I plead.

“Where did she get this? Answer me!”

“From me.” The moment the words leave my lips, I know the lapse in judgment will not go unpunished. “We were looking up what Halloween was. He wrote about it in the diaries, and I thought she’d like to read more.”

His eyes bear into mine as he spits out his next words. “You idiot. I knew I should have made you read these sooner. You’re completely lost. You have no clue of the duty you have.”

If it wasn’t for the terror that coursed through me, I might have felt embarrassed. 

“She leaves tonight.” He is seething, his anger palpable. “I’ve had enough of her.”

I feel a different kind of fear start to build in my gut, the kind that only the thought of losing America can bring about. Of all the things she has done, this was the most reckless. Even so, I won’t let my father control this. 

He will not win this time. 

“You can’t send her home. That’s my choice, and I say she stays,” I challenge, doing everything in my power to stay composed. For a split second, I see him unravel, unhinged by my public disobedience, no doubt. 

“Maxon Calix Schreave, I am the king of Illea, and I say—-”

“Could you stop being the king for five minutes and just be my father?” I yell. All the anger I'd kept buried for years was finally beginning to bubble over. Father had always viewed my entire life as a chess game, each move calculated and planned. Never once did he stop to consider the human being underneath the crown. For once, I wanted him to _actually_ see me.

It was my turn to become unhinged.

"This is my choice. You got to make yours, and I want to make mine. No one else is leaving without my say-so!”

I feel the drum of my heartbeat against my chest as I watch my father tighten his fist at his side. I can barely hear his words to my mother over the sound of blood pounding in my ears as he shoves Gregory’s diary into her arms. 

“Maxon, I need to see you in my office,” he says. My blood runs cold. All the anger and bravery I’d felt melts away instantly. I stand there, silent, attempting to ground myself, willing the fear to leave me. “Or, I could simply talk to her.” 

Father outstretches his arm, gesturing towards America. 

No. No no no no. 

America tenses, and the panic chokes me. I can't let him near her. I can’t let him have her. “No, no that won’t be necessary.” I shift, turning my attention to the women. “Ladies, why don’t you all head upstairs? We’ll have dinner sent to you tonight.” My voice wavers; I hope it goes unnoticed. I avoid America’s gaze, but I know I have to prepare her. “America, maybe you should go ahead and collect your things. Just in case.” For a moment, I wonder if this will make her happy. Has she gotten exactly what she’d wanted?

Beside me, I can hear the smugness in Father’s voice as he sings his agreement. “Excellent idea. After you, _son.”_

Embarrassed, I finally look up, my eyes meeting America’s. I want to scold her, to tell her how stupid she had been tonight. Above all, however, I want to tell her not to worry, that everything will be fine. Instead, I turn on my heels and walk off the _Report_ stage.

...

“Close the door,” Father orders, the rage returning now that there are no more prying eyes watching. I obey, closing it gently, afraid that any sudden movement will set him off.

“Father, I—-”

“Turn around.” I stare at him, unmoving. This time, he roars out the command. “Turn! Around!”

Slowly, I turn. 

“Off,” he bellows. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing myself for what’s to come. No amount of time can numb the terror. 

I will myself to be brave.

I slide the suit jacket off my shoulders, hanging it over the back of a chair to my right. As I start working at the buttons of my shirt, I struggle, the tremors making it nearly impossible. The impatience of my father’s footsteps is masked only by the pounding of my own heart. 

A cabinet opens, and the sound of the object hitting against the floor ushers in a fresh wave of fear. 

“I am your King, and you will show me some respect.”

The first blow crashes down onto me. A guttural noise escapes my lips as I grip onto the table in front of me, white-knuckled. 

“How _dare_ you make a fool of me, of this kingdom!” Another lash jerks me forward. “Do you know what your actions, what that _girl’s_ actions, have done? Answer me!”

Another lash forces out a chocked cry. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Sweat is beading on my forehead, on my neck, on my arms. The gashes have started to sting, but I will not give him the satisfaction of tears. Two more lashes assault my back.

“You don’t deserve your title, boy. Crowned Prince of Illea.” He scoffs. “What a shame, to waste it on a boy whose head is in the clouds. Do you think this is a game, son? Do you really think that little girl loves you?”

Through gritted teeth, I manage a mumble. “Don’t talk about her like that.” Another lash, one that feels like barbed wire, slices through my already mangled skin, and I can’t stop the low groan that escapes.

“Speak up, son.”

“Leave her out of this!” 

Father chuckles, a low, slow sound that rumbles like an earthquake. It feels like salt to the wound. 

“But don’t you see, son, this is all about that little Five. She’s messing with your head, filling it with nonsense. She’s worthless, Maxon. Surely you see that. There’s no reason for her to be here, especially not after that little stunt tonight. Don’t you agree?”

I hear the sound of the cane against the desktop and sigh in relief, grateful for the torment to be over. Mistakenly, in my respite, I’d ignored my father’s question. He clutches onto my shoulder, spinning me around and pinning my back against the wall near the door. I let out a wail, the pain blinding me in a white-hot flash. 

“You absolute fool! You love her, don’t you?” he spits. 

No, I was not going to say it like this, not to the man who’d broken me time and time again. 

“Answer me!”

“I will not.” I manage to force a hint of authority into my voice. Father straightens, pressing my shoulder further into the wall as he does so. I feel the rough surface scrape against the tender skin and suck in a breath. Looking at me, he raises an eyebrow, and a hint of a smirk grows on his face. 

“Very well. It matters not. She leaves. _Today._ You do it, or I will. It’s your decision.” Father moves across the room and begins to shuffle through papers that lay atop his desk. Just like that, it’s as if the last fifteen minutes hadn’t even happened. In the game of pretend, he would always reign supreme.

The irony of his words is not lost on me; there is no choice in the matter. I stand there, back still pressed against the wall, as the impact of them hit me.

_America is leaving, and there is nothing I can do about it._

After a moment, Father looks up to me. “You are dismissed.” 

It's all I can do to slide the white shirt and jacket back up my arms without collapsing. 

In a final act of rebellion, I turn and give a small, unacknowledged bow before exiting. As I close the door behind me, I allow myself to let the agony spill out of my eyes. 


End file.
